“O pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth”
by William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
From Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene 2
Because it’s the Ides of March

O pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers;
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man⁠
That ever lived in the tide of times.
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,—
Which like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips,⁠
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue,—
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men;
Domestic fury and fierce civil strife
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy;⁠
Blood and destruction shall be so in use,
And dreadful objects so familiar,
That mothers shall but smile when they behold
Their infants quarter’d with the hands of war,—
All pity chok’d with custom of fell deeds;⁠
And Cæsar’s spirit, ranging for revenge,
With Ate by his side come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines with a monarch’s voice
Cry ‘Havoc!’ and let slip the dogs of war;⁠
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.

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